(no subject)
Anyone in the general vicinity of the mansion porch is likely to hear a thud.
This would be the sound a man falling rather unceremoniously on the front steps, seemingly out of the very sky. Not an angel fallen from heaven, if his half-dressed appearance is any indication. Angels, one might think, would have enough sense to travel in more than just their tattered black pants and one dirty sock.
He lays there a moment before he lifts his head and pushes back the tangled black mass of his hair to look around, squinting and wincing as if the light hurts his eyes. It does. He is, altogether, an unusual thing with yellow eyes, black fingernails, and his pale skin is crisscrossed with shiny scars that, upon close inspection by anyone, reveals to be remnants of holy script carved across his body.
"...Harper?"
Typist: Belimai Sykes, a Prodigal (demon descendant) from Wicked Gentlemen by Ginn Hale.
This would be the sound a man falling rather unceremoniously on the front steps, seemingly out of the very sky. Not an angel fallen from heaven, if his half-dressed appearance is any indication. Angels, one might think, would have enough sense to travel in more than just their tattered black pants and one dirty sock.
He lays there a moment before he lifts his head and pushes back the tangled black mass of his hair to look around, squinting and wincing as if the light hurts his eyes. It does. He is, altogether, an unusual thing with yellow eyes, black fingernails, and his pale skin is crisscrossed with shiny scars that, upon close inspection by anyone, reveals to be remnants of holy script carved across his body.
"...Harper?"
Typist: Belimai Sykes, a Prodigal (demon descendant) from Wicked Gentlemen by Ginn Hale.